


Hold this thread

by Builder



Series: Heroverse [17]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Disordered Eating, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Vomiting, one of those Bucky comes home and everything is Not Good fics, which is not the same as eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Builder/pseuds/Builder
Summary: Steve draws in a breath and prepares to apologize again, but Bucky begins to cough.  “It’s hard,” he rasps.  “It’s too hard.”“Oh, Buck,” Steve whispers. He embeds his fingers in Bucky’s shirt, hiking it above his waist. Bucky’s abdominal muscles tremble, and if Steve concentrates, he thinks he could count the sharp ribs jutting against his chest.He fills his mind with other things, though. Like his lips planting on Bucky’s hairline and staying there, plastering a kiss that means so much more than just I love you.





	Hold this thread

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @Builder051
> 
> I chose to put this fic in Heroverse, but it really fits with all my Captain America 'verses (canon, AU, and vague).

“You got a sick kid at home?”

Steve startles from his daze. “Huh?”

“All this.”  The cashier nods at the Pedialyte and crackers on the conveyer belt. “Your kid sick?”

“Oh.”  Steve scratches the back of his neck, then slowly shakes his head.  “Just… Bucky.”

He realizes too late that the pimply teenager has no idea what he’s talking about.  It’s near closing time, and he probably wants to go home, like Steve.

The opportunity to explain passes in awkward silence, and Steve swipes his credit card without looking at the total.

“Have a goos night,” the kid says without a trace of sincerity.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, scooping up his bags. “You too.”

He tosses the groceries onto the front passenger seat and slams the door. Steve takes one second to press his fingertips to his temples in a mixture of prayer and frustration before sliding into the car and throwing it into reverse before he even puts his seatbelt on.

“Buck?” Steve calls as he opens the front door of the townhouse. “I’m home.”

There’s no answer.  From the entryway, Steve can see the living room is dark. He rounds the corner into the kitchen, and for a moment he’s disappointed when the light is off there too.  But what would Bucky be doing in the kitchen anyway?  Sitting stiff and uncomfortable at the table, as he’s done for the better part of two days?  At least if he’s upstairs he’s probably lying down.

Steve hits the light switch and starts unloading Pedialyte into the fridge. He crumples the empty shopping bag and is about to stash it under the sink when he pauses. A half-dozen soda cans and a loaf of bread sit on the counter. The house has been more chaotic than Steve usually keeps it since Bucky’s been back. But this doesn’t make sense.

Steve picks up the bread tie and starts to seal off the bag, but something makes him stop again and peek down into the orange-tint plastic. He sees the ragged bite marks just as a quiet whimper floats down the stairs.

“Shit.”  Steve’s heart sinks, surpassing his stomach and dropping down to his feet. He’s sure he would’ve heard it hit the floor if he hadn’t been running. He takes the steps two at a time and arrives at the bathroom door in time to hear a strangled gag.  

“Bucky?” Steve asks, hitting the partially-closed door with the backs of his knuckles.  

It’s not surprising that this is happening. It’s what always happens; every time he wheedles a couple hundred calories into Bucky, they end up back here, with Bucky shaking on his knees and Steve second guessing everything.

But Steve doesn’t have to think to know the scene unfolding is all shades of wrong. He’d left Bucky downstairs watching an old Humphrey Bogart movie, not up here spilling his guts again. And definitely not trying to stick his fist down his throat.

“Buck.”  It comes out as a desperate breath.  Steve drops into a crouch and tugs Bucky’s elbow.  “What’re you doing?”

Bucky turns his face toward Steve just long enough to show bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Then he faces the toilet again.

“Hey.  Bucky, hey,” Steve murmurs.  He puts his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and presses his chest to his side, laying as much of himself against him as he can, willing him to stop.

“No,” Bucky breathes, moving his hand past his jaw just long enough to let a slurry of fizz and masticated bread splash into the toilet.

“It’s ok,” Steve intones. “It’s ok, Buck.”  He squeezes his eyes shut to lessen the weight of the lie. But even that’s an untruth. He just doesn’t want to see what Bucky forced down his throat come back up.

“I just… I don’t…” Bucky pulls his fingers out of his mouth and latches onto the toilet seat. Strings of mucous connect back to his wet lips, and they seem to jerk him forward as his body continues to retch.

“It’s ok, Buck.”  Steve squeezes him as tightly as he dares. “It’s gonna be alright. Just let it happen.”

Bucky gags dryly. “I can’t… It won’t…” he sputters. A sob bubbles up bursts out between the heaves.

“You’re empty,” Steve says. “You’re done.”  He rubs circles into Bucky’s back. “You’re done.”

“I’m,” Bucky starts.  A sick noise comes from his throat. “I can’t do it.  I shouldn’t’ve…”

He gags before he can finish the thought, but Steve fills in the blanks.   _I shouldn’t’ve come back…_

“No,” Steve says firmly. He presses his ear to the top of Bucky’s head hoping he’ll feel the words in addition to hearing them. “Don’t say that. You’re trying. You’re…”  But Steve can’t bring himself to finish the sentence with another lie.

“I’m so… I’m so hungry,” Bucky groans. “I’m… I don’t feel good.”  He might’ve said something else, but he sobs massively, tears and snot join the vomit dripping down his face.

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs.  “It won’t last forever.  I was sick so much when I was younger, you remember.  Things are so different now…”  He trails off.  He may as well be rubbing Bucky’s nose in it.  What he’s experiencing is in effect the same thing in reverse.  Steve’s being insensitive, if only by accident.  

He draws in a breath and prepares to apologize again, but Bucky begins to cough.  “It’s hard,” he rasps.  “It’s too hard.”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve whispers. He embeds his fingers in Bucky’s shirt, hiking it above his waist. Bucky’s abdominal muscles tremble, and if Steve concentrates, he thinks he could count the sharp ribs jutting against his chest.

He fills his mind with other things, though. Like his lips planting on Bucky’s hairline and staying there, plastering a kiss that means so much more than just  _I love you_.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m going to fix it._

_I’ll do anything._

“Steve…”  Bucky’s soiled hand wraps around Steve’s forearm, accepting the fact of the embrace and hugging Steve back.  

Steve doesn’t mind the mess.  He’d endure the slimy touch for the rest of his life if it makes Bucky feel better.  “I know,” Steve says, the taste Bucky’s clammy sweat seeping onto his tongue.  “I know.”


End file.
